


Ten Years Ago

by fyreuk



Category: Mianite - Fandom, the realm of mianite
Genre: Angst, Character Death, I FELT LIKE ANGST AND DEATH AND MOTANITE SO I DID IT, M/M, Multi, Violence, minor OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyreuk/pseuds/fyreuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years ago, Mot changed his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years Ago

The sound of a ferocious blade cutting deadly through flesh and unexpected guts was violent, metallic and a painful feeling. The sound of the blade retracting, and then going through again and again through the poor God’s stomach echoed in the large single office with the raised roof, the sound of the echo mocked the dying lord as it repeated again in more silent tones. The huff of the assassin crawling against the immortal’s skin as he stabbed and stabbed again, when he did his final blow - he shoved the God to the ground and covered his face with his dark, black cloak, fleeing from the bloody scene and leaving the sword for no hands to settle into the lord’s stomach.

The God turned himself on to his back and hissed loudly as he moved, the pain was extremely unbearable to him and he has never experienced this kind of humane feeling before - mainly because he could never feel physical pain and neither has he died before. But it seems like he’s going through both of them. He could feel his body giving out slowly and his vision darkening, the only thing he could hear in this deadly ‘silence’ in the room was his racing heart beat. He looked down to his stomach and examined the sword embedded in him…

The Lord didn’t expect that sort of weapon to be sliced through him.

A weapon that contained his mother’s soul.

A weapon that was named after his mother: Kikoku Akemi.

The name haunted him, the name reminded him of dark times and good times through his time of growing up in that pleasing ranch, he remembered when he watched his mother forge many weapons for customers and friends and wanting to try it out. Of course his mother would never let him handle a sword, even if he was an immortal god - he was too young to indulge in violence despite his future role.

It was warming to hear of his mother’s name, but that warmth was soon destroyed when he remembered that her own sword that she rightfully crafted with her soul was killing him. Who in Akemi’s name was able to get that divine blade?

The God’s thoughts were soon interrupted when the loud slamming of the door colliding with the red wall next to the spruce and the following shouts of his champion pleading with angst. He didn’t know when he kneeled next to his slowly dying body, but he was deeply disappointed when he knew he couldn’t comfort him. He also realized that he was being held up by his champion’s knee and his hand tangled in his dark, combed over hair - clutching it for dear life of him.

He could hear his cries of help, he could hear his champion’s adopted daughter confused cries when he shouted both of their names - followed with disbelieving sobs and the patter of her tiny, clawed feet as she ran to the both of them. He could hear the desperate sadness in the man’s voice as his tears wettened his cheeks and dropped onto the God’s dress shirt.

He would be lying if he didn’t hear the confessions of love filling his thoughts from his favourite partner, his whispers of sweet nothings was filled with mumbled apologies and the hint of love.

Love was a feeling that his sister had fallen into when she was won over with the charming city of Dagrun, love was a feeling that her daughter shared with a local cheerful farmer that followed him. Love was a human feeling that he was surprised his sister had experienced.

Ten years ago, love was something he’d found himself crawling too when he’d met this Champion of his.

Ten years ago, the last words that filled his thoughts changed his world for a whole second.

Ten years ago, Mot whispered:

I love you.


End file.
